The Scar in My Heart

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about heartbreak. Idea made from a writing prompt stating, "write about a stain that will not come out." I took it into deeper meaning. Please write comments on how I can improve!

Submitted: October 13, 2012

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Submitted: October 13, 2012

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The Scar In My Heart

Ria Khandpur

 

The stain will not come out.

The bloodshed and the tears you have triggered in me will never succumb from my tired soul.

Made weak with passion, I claw futilely at my cracked heart, shattered by your callous, merciless actions, trying to shoo the blemish away, but

 

The stain will not come out.

What you have done is permanent. I’m exhausted from trying to get over you. I will myself to persevere, feebly clinging to the last scraps of determination.

 My once warm fingers scuffle with the mark you left on my guillotined spirit, but

 

The stain will not come out.

I tussle harder to get it out, my strength gradually dwindling into malice.  I, who was formerly crammed with vivacity, flooding with happiness caused by you.

I, who was your best friend, your escape from reality, the person who you could use to retreat from the spite of life. I struggle to annihilate the scar you created in my heart, but

 

The stain will not come out.

When someone looks at me now, they see a deep chasm brimming with heartless vindictiveness, a lifeless pit of fury caused by sorrow. Pathetic, they think, how someone could have caused this wreck.

Look at her. She is worn out, all strength diminishing from her fatigued, obliterated heart. Her heart is like a scorned, tattered piece of cloth that someone had once called his favorite shirt. I clench the detergent desperately, but

 

The stain will not come out.

Drained of elation by you, I will never be happy again. I will never be like the sunlight filtering through the trees on a perfect summer day, I will never be like a field of flowers whispering to the breeze.

I will never be like the saccharine descant that a bird with feathers that glint in the light as if they are painted with gems will sing. I strain for the final time. Diminutive to start with, all hope is depleted. My body slumps in a stupor, because

 

The stain will not come out.

 

 


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